


Boxes

by chelonianmobile



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Crossdressing, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the GenderQueer FicFest. Noodle wants people to stop treating them like a girl, because they're not a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You hate boxes.

A box took you from your home. You don't remember anything before the box. You remember being in the crate for what felt like days. Later you calculated it was only twelve hours, give or take a little, but that was long enough to be crammed in a crate with only a water bottle and a guitar.

Finally the box breaks open, and you leap out, desperate for movement and daylight, and three figures surround you, looking shocked. They scare you, but they're better than the box. The dark-haired one stinks of alcohol and sour sweat, and looks at you in baffled disgust. The fat one has eyes like pools of milk, and seems horrified at seeing you; you can't blame him, he can't have been expecting you. You settle on the third; tall, blue-haired, and pretty, clad in a pink bunny T-shirt. Eyes blank and black, but smiling. The person coos and reaches out to you, saying something you don't understand in a high voice.

_"Aw, she's so cute!"_

It takes you several days to figure out 2D is a man. When you look back at this in later years, you'll wonder if you were drawn to him because you subconsciously thought he was like you.

The others seem reluctant to greet you. Perhaps a song will warm them up? You pick up your guitar, and play.

By the time you're done they're awestruck. They talk among themselves. You beam. They like you. The dark-haired one says something to you.

_"You got a name, kid?"_

You remember one word. Just one. You don't know why it's important. Perhaps it's a codeword. It's worth a try.

"Noodle."

They look confused. You repeat it.

_"Noodle!"_

The name sticks. When you learn more English, months later, you smile, realising it's perfect.

The first day or two, you wear clothes borrowed from 2D. His shirts drag on the ground when you wear them. You like them. They smell like butterscotch, like he does. One day you tuck up the hem and knot it at the sides, to keep it at a reasonable length for a shirt, and wear his old shorts under it. Next day you untie the knots and let it drag, wear it as a dress.

The day of the concert comes, and from the first note the audience are struck dumb. You're eight years old and in a strange place with no memories left, but you know your guitar better than yourself, and they love you.

You rise up and up, together, and your bandmates hug you and praise you in a language you're becoming slowly more familiar with, but you don't need to understand to appreciate it anyway. Money rolls in steadily, and they buy you anything you want; 2D with a toothless grin and an announcement of "Love ya, Noods!", Russell ruffling your hair and saying "Just felt like treating you, baby girl", Murdoc with a scowl and muttering "Don't fucking break it, kid". Murdoc only calls you "kid", not "baby girl" or "sweetie", and you find you like that. Sometimes you do like what Russell and 2D call you, but sometimes you don't. Sometimes it feels wrong, not fitting. You don't try to stop them, though; it makes them happy.

One day you steal Murdoc's electric razor and shave large patches off your head. You wanted a less girly haircut, but your attempts didn't turn out well. Russell shouts and 2D hides giggles, and Murdoc refuses to let them take you for a "proper" haircut, declaring your efforts "totally fucking punk rock, kiddo". You giggle, and suppose the haircut works for you for now.

2D hands you another box, and you open it to find a shiny new keyboard, a smaller copy of his. It's beautiful.

Boxes are okay when it's not you that's in them.


	2. Chapter 2

You love your bandmates, but sometimes they make you want to fucking scream.

Today you're a boy, sort of. You slick bits of your fringe back and tie a short rat-tail into your hair to make a passably male cut. You strategically place a pair of rolled-up socks, taking comfort in the little weight. You walk differently, slipping into the movements as easily as breathing. Then your stomach chooses the worst time to cramp, and in the bathroom you find drops and smears of red in the briefs you stole from 2D. You couldn't have predicted it, you're not regular yet, but you still feel a burst of anger at yourself for ruining them, another at your body for ruining your day. You stamp downstairs and slump on the couch, waiting for your bandmates to wake up.

Russell comes down after about an hour and immediately starts tinkering with one of his weird taxidermy projects. He looks concerned when you only grunt in response to his cheery greeting, but shrugs and decides not to press you. You feel relief, until 2D stumbles blearily downstairs and Murdoc crawls up from the Winnebago shortly before noon.

2D heads for the kitchen and you hear him running water and gulping down his pills. He comes back to the living room, throws you a Coke can and a big smile, and flops on the floor in front of the TV, his battered eyeballs straining to see the screen properly. Murdoc slouches in an armchair, still half asleep. You run your finger over the pull-tab, not opening the can.

"Hey, baby girl, are you okay?" Russell asks eventually, putting down his spanner. "You seem kinda off."

 _Not a girl, not a girl,_ you chant in your head, and shrink away from him. "Mmf."

2D looks up from the TV. "Aw, Noods, you ill? Or is it something else? C'mon, we're supposed to be here for you, you know you can tell us!"

"No I can't," you mumble.

"Oh, I get it. Girl thing?" he says, winking and giggling.

Ice-hot envy eats you up inside. 2D wears pink shirts and socks and underpants, and he giggles and his voice squeaks, but he still looks like a boy, he's happy being a boy, he's _always_ a boy, and you hurl the Coke at his head and flee the room before the can bursts against the wall. You reach your room and huddle under your covers, head beneath your pillow, where nobody can see you, even yourself.

Some time later, your door opens. You expect it to be 2D or Russell, but the stink of alcohol informs you otherwise.

"It's lunchtime, kid. You hungry?"

You don't reply.

Murdoc sits down beside you and drops a hand heavily onto your back.

"Look, I'm no good at this, but Faceache and Russ don't know why you're pissed off at them and don't want to make it worse, so they sent me in case you were still upset. Clearly you are, so is there anything any of us can do? C'mon, when you cry Faceache cries, and I hate that little whiny noise he makes."

You remain silent.

"Okay, okay, I really do hate to see you cry, but you tell anyone and I'll ... I don't know, but it won't be fun. Huh. Spanish Inquisition's got nothing on teenage girls."

"Not a girl today," you mumble.

Murdoc is silent for a while. You expect anger. He's never hit you before, but you half-expect now will be the first time.

Instead, he sighs. "Okay. I can't say I didn't have my suspicions. Back when you were little you were so happy when people thought you were a boy. So if you want to be one now ... I have contacts, I can get you cheap T shots."

"No, no, that's not it!" you protest, squeezing the pillow in your hands. You don't quite have the words for it. "I ... I'm a boy _now,_ but I might not be tomorrow, or next week. Sometimes I'm a girl. Or something else. I don't know."

Murdoc wrinkles his flattened nose in confusion. "Okay, I don't get that at all. You don't want to be either?"

"I do!" you scream, throwing the pillow down. "More than anything! I want to be able to say I'm something! I want to _know_ what the hell I am!"

If you didn't know better, you'd think Murdoc was looking down at you in sympathy. Must be your vision blurring.

"Aw, kiddo, that's all?"

No, his voice is sympathetic too, gravelly but soft.

"We all know who you are, that's easy. You're _Noodle."_

You blink, teary-eyed, and think that the weirdest part is that _Murdoc_ is the one who gets it. You hug him despite his token protests, and let him lead you downstairs for lunch.

You wait till you've calmed down to talk. The others deserve to know.

"I'm sorry about this morning," you say, shuffling your feet. "I had reasons for being angry, but it's not fair to take it out on you, especially when you don't know why I'm upset. This is a bit hard to explain, but I was upset because ... you kept calling me a girl. And I'm not a girl."

They look stunned, and 2D tilts his head. "Uh? I'm pretty sure-"

"Faceache, shaddup before you say something even dumber than usual," Murdoc interrupts. "Noods here does have ... female anatomy." You smirk, seeing him suddenly uncomfortable with applying his usual crudeness to you. "But sh- sorry, it's 'he' today, right? ... is not always a girl up in the head, if you get my drift."

"That's not how I'd have put it," you say, "but yeah, that is about right. I am a girl sometimes, but today I'm a boy."

"And if you have a problem with her, then you have a problem with me. Without her the band's screwed so I'm quite willing to risk more broken bones for her, so suck on that, tubby," Murdoc adds, folding his arms and nodding firmly at Russell, even though he hasn't said anything.

Russell stares at him, and says "Somehow I didn't peg you as the most tolerant towards the transgender community, Muds."

"Tolerating something isn't the same as liking it. I hate them the same as I hate everyone. It's just, you know, in my line of communications you learn a lot about people's souls, and sometimes they don't synch up with the bodies. Just one of those things." Murdoc shrugs. "No reason for me to get angry about it, that'd be stupid. And Noodle isn't exactly in that category, from what he tells me - 'm I right, kiddo?"

"Can you all stop calling me she, please?" you ask, uncharacteristically meek. "I'd prefer 'they' and 'them' if that's okay."

"But that makes it sound like there's two of you," 2D says, frowning.

"Well, there are sort of three of me, in a way. One's a girl, one's a boy, and one's something else. Or just use my name. Noodle is okay for all of me."

2D looks confused, but shrugs. "Okay, if it makes you happy. I don't really get it, but I'm not the one that has to, right? I don't want you to be sad."

Russell pulls you into a hug, and says "Okay, baby g- ... baby. We can do this."

That evening you all stare vaguely in the direction of the TV, as usual, bickering amicably. You feel closer to them than you have in years. Now you aren't hiding from them.

Murdoc brings you a twelve-pack and insists that "if you're gonna be a man sometimes, you should learn to drink like one". Russell takes the beer away and brings painkillers instead, letting you ignore the monthly treachery of your biology for a while, and Googles around until he finds the word "genderfluid", which suddenly helps you make a lot more sense to him and yourself.

2D happily goes along with your wishes, though you can tell he still doesn't get it. But he's 2D. He doesn't get a lot of things. And he knows you do get it. So that's okay for now.


	3. Chapter 3

You hate that fucking robot.

The robot's body has no curves, nothing but angles, any figure a careful illusion formed by clothing. Your figure is barely any more pronounced, but the difference is still there, even if only you can see it. You have aged, while the robot has not. The robot has only blank plastic pseudo-skin between its legs. You checked.

Murdoc claims he planned to install D-cups but he made the robot's face first and its resemblance to you put him off. You kick him sharply in the shins with the Cuban heels he gave you. You love those boots; you can wear them whichever one of yourself you're being today. He swears loudly and shakes his beer threateningly in your direction, both of you knowing he doesn't mean either the threat or the comment which prompted the kick.

Secretly you're pleased. He has confirmed that his relationship with you is one thing he won't defile. He'd cut his tongue out rather than say it, but you know. He has many children, most of whom he's never met, but you feel that sometimes he wishes you were one of them. Still, in ways other than blood, you can be, when he's willing to take it. He's not the ideal parental figure, but you can accept him. He has accepted all of you.

The robot watches chick flicks and pads its nonexistent breasts. It has what you want, and you wonder if it wants what you were stuck with.

The robot shuts itself - herself - in the closet to recharge, and you walk by the door feeling its - _her_ unnerving grin aimed at you through the wood.

The robot likes her box.


	4. Chapter 4

You love this little house.

It's tiny, cramped, unattractive. Russell's mutation means he can't even fit inside. But it's a home, and it's safe, which is what you need for now. No zombies or demons or pirates. Just the band, together again.

Today you're leaning vaguely towards being a boy, but you feel like mixing it up. Reach into the box and see what you pull out. You tug on your binder, put a dress on over it, and tug your hair into a fairly androgynous style.

Among the many injuries you suffered in Hell, you struck your head several times, and your hair faded from purple-black to indigo; the same condition as 2D, albeit less extreme. You rather like it, despite the circumstances. Now you look more like him, more like family.

You slip downstairs, ignoring the cyborg's closet, and search for your new packer. You find it hanging from the light fixture, where 2D threw it after Murdoc chased him around the room with it the previous night. You probably should have been upset by that, but you smirk, and tuck it into your Hello Kitty knickers. You look down at yourself and grin. The skirt conceals the bulge. Fooling people is fun sometimes.

You step out the front door, smiling, ready to face whatever the world can throw at you. You turn around and smile at the little house. Murdoc claimed that after Kong and Plastic Beach it was like living in a matchbox.

It's a box you can live with.


End file.
